Liberty Spikes
by LuckLadenLefty
Summary: A young Bojack tastes liberation.
1. Chapter 1

A mercilessly cold wind shore effortlessly through the breathable fabric of his soccer uniform and the resulting shiver made Bojack teeter on his feet. Grumbling, the young boy fought with the half-way broken zipper of his father's jacket until he got it halfway up, watching diligently for traffic as he crossed the upcoming intersection.

A second wave of frigid air tore through him and the child's brisk walk quickly became a run for the nearest open door. With a grunt he shouldered it open and he was hit with the smell of burnt hair and chemicals.

"Hi," a full-figured woman trilled at him from the other side of the shop as she tended to a wispy mop of hair atop an older gentleman's head. "I'll be with you in just a second."

Wordlessly, Bojack slunk into the shop, taking refuge at the end of a row of seats opposite the door. The whole shop was lined with seats, but all were empty except for where he sat. Idly, he looked out the window at the sun as continued to slip down behind the clouds and then eyed a clock on the wall opposite, the hands reading 4:48.

Bojack pulled a heavy sigh through his nose just as the woman flitted up to the counter, the man teetering around to the other side.

"Alright," she continued in that same saccharine sweet tone. "Are we all set today?"

"I think that'll do it," the man replied happily as he patted his freshly groomed coiffure with a wrinkled hand. "What do I owe ya?"

"Eleven seventy four," she replied and the man fished a few crisp bills out of his pocket and handed them to her.

"There's fourteen," the man smiled. "Keep the change."

"Thank you," she chirped as she slid the bills into the register, sliding the other three into her pocket.

"Buy yourself somethin' nice," the man added with a laugh. The woman laughed right along, promising to do just that and before Bojack had realized it, the man was starting toward him, his face portraying that same eerie benevolence.

Bojack's eyes met his and the man's smile seemed to grow larger as he tipped his head to Bojack in acknowledgement. Bojack could only muster a half-hearted smile in return as the man stepped past him to grab his hat and coat off the rack, giving one last goodbye to the woman behind the counter as he left.

"Can I help you?" came a woman's voice amidst the ringing of the chime above the door and - keeping his eyes fixated on his shoes - Bojack responded with an unenthused. "No, I'm okay."

"We're closing up soon," the woman said, a note of sympathy in her voice. "Where are your parents?"

"Home probably." Bojack sighed as he got up from his seat and started toward the door.

"Do you need a ride? It's cold out," she added hopefully.

Bojack paused, one hand on the door. "No, I'm good."

"Wait," the woman barked as she dug hurriedly through the drawer, running around the counter and coming to a stop beside him car keys in her hand. "Let me drive you home, please. It's freezing out there."

Bojack gave a sidelong glance at the keys, the freezing outside air biting at the skin of the hand he had pressed against the glass.

"I can't."

The girl raised an eyebrow. "You can't?"

"My parents..." he started, prepared to bandy his unusual and admittedly depressing home life to this complete and utter stranger, but eventually setting with a yarn about them having told him not to accept rides from strangers.

It hadn't been a complete lie, however. His mother had - in that same cold, authoritative way she did most everything - sit him down one afternoon after school, rifling him about all manner of subjects that a child is wont to talk about with their parents; adding with a particularly rueful intonation that they could skip the lecture on smoking.

His father of course hadn't been present throughout the ordeal, but Bojack had long since come to expect as much. The man was almost more ghost than man; either at work or sequestered away in his study, usually not emerging until the following morning — if at all.

Flashes of his father hunched over the writing desk in his study, pawing thoughtfully at his keyboard came to Bojack's mind before the sweet timbre of the woman's voice caught his ear again.

"Okay, fine, then lemme at least...just don't go anywhere, just hang on a second."

Bojack turned and watched as the woman disappeared through a door on the other side of the room, re-emerging moments later with a black object in her arms.

"Its for coa-coa," she gasped as she heaved the monstrosity up onto the counter next to the register. "It's the least I can do if I'm really gonna let you go back out there."

As if transfixed by the machine, Bojack pulled away from the window and crossed the room, coming to stand at the counter just as the woman resurfaced from having had to plug the thing in.

"Okay," she breathed. "Now, we just need some hot water. I'll be right back...again ..."

Again, the girl disappeared into the back, reappearing with two water bottles, two ceramic mugs and two small, plastic packages all cradled delicately in her arms.

"Sucks these were in the fridge," she said as she laid the mugs onto the counter before unscrewing the lids off both of the water bottles and depositing their contents into the base of the machine. "Shouldn't take too long though, this thing's great"

With the pot half-full, the woman hit a few buttons on the machine and the thing whirred to life. With the machine running and the pot begging to churn, the woman tore both packages open and poured their contents into the pot.

"Alright" she began as she shook out the last remnants of coa-coa powder. "Now," she said, tossing the empty package to the side, "We wait."

There was a note of silence as both parties stared dumbly at the coffee maker before the woman turned and grabbed both mugs in her hands.

"So," she began again, leaning her weight against the counter and using one of her hands to slide an empty mug toward Bojack who cupped it almost reverently. "Are you parents like the rich, busy type?"

"Busy...yeah..." Bojack responded almost too quickly. "My dad is I mean."

"It was _my _mom." The statement had come plainly enough, said without the slightest bit of hesitation or regret, but in those four simple words there was something that resonated very deeply with Bojack; so much so that without him having realized it, he smiled.

"Single mother flight attendant," the woman continued. "Always at work; me and my brother basically did whatever we wanted."

Bojack smirked. "Must've been nice."

"It kinda was. Birthdays were always a toss up."

Bojack's smirk grew. "Yeah..."

The coffee maker beeped just then.

"Oh, there we go."

The woman removed the pot and stirred the mixture with a plastic spoon she produced from somewhere under the counter and poured some of the concoction into her mug before outstretching her hand toward Bojack who clumsily handed her his mug.

"It's good, I promise," she reassured as she poured him his share.

"Thank you," Bojack said quietly as he accepted the mug from her.

"You don't talk much, do you?"

Despite the framing of her question, Bojack offered her a feather-light smile. "Guess not." There was a moment of silence before he added a light, almost inaudible "Sorry."

The woman laughed. It was a short, subdued laughter but genuine all the same.

"You don't have to apologize."

"Oh...sorry."

Just like that, the woman's laughter started up again; much harder and much more truly than before.

"You crack me up, kid. What's your name?"

"Bojack," the child answered simply. "What's yours?"

"Ashley," the girl responded. "It's boring, I know."

Bojack shook his head. "I like it."

Ashley giggled lightly. "Thanks; I like yours too. Sounds like a famous actor's name or something."

Bojack gave a hollow chuckle.

"What?" Ashley grinned, stepping around the counter with her mug, carefully vetting the boy. "You could pull it off."

Squinting, Ashley tilted her hips so that they were pushed out to one side and rested her chin on the backside of her hand. "But that jacket would just have to go," she said finally with a ridiculous affectation to her voice, her lips pursed comically.

Bojack blinked at her, turning his eyes down to the ill-fitting jacket that hung off his shoulders like an elaborate robe.

"It's fine, I was just kidding," she said, still giggling as she set her mug down and squatted before the young boy, taking the collar of his jacket in both hands and tugging it up properly onto his shoulders .

"Seriously though, this thing is depressing." Ashley leaned back on her heels as if to admire him; the jacket slid off Bojack's shoulders again.

She sighed.

"It's my dad's," Bojack said lamely, staring down the arms of the jacket that has slid down to completely engulf his tiny hands.

"Figures," she grumbled, standing again and going back to nursing her mug "Don't worry, I got the same shit. My mom tried to give me her wedding dress one time."

Bojack pulled a face at the thought.

Ashley chuckled around her mug as she took a sip. "That was basically my reaction too."

She took another sip. "Y'know, I might not be able to do anything about the jacket, but I can definitely do something about that hair."

"I thought you were closing soon," Bojack said.

Wordlessly, Ashley sauntered over to the window where the "open" sign was lit and yanked the chord out of the wall.

"There," she said with a grunt as she righted herself. "Now we're closed."

As Ashley made her way back over toward her station, Bojack followed behind her.

"Sit, my child," she gestured almost regally to the barber's chair.

Bojack slipped into it stiffly, mug in hand.

There was a noise above him and all of the sudden there were hands on the thick mane of hair that ran from the top of his head all the way down his neck.

"Jeez, when was the last time you got a haircut or even brushed your hair."

Bojack blew timidly at the little wafts of steam coming up from his mug before he answered, as if he'd been mulling over exactly what he should say, eventually deciding on "my mom usually does my hair."

"Well, between you and me she doesn't do a very good job." Ashley's sentence ended in something that was between a snort and a laugh as she grabbed a tangle of split ends in her fingers.

The corner's of Bojack's mouth turned up in an attempt to match what little enthusiasm there was, but ultimately he couldn't muster up much of anything.

"It's okay though," a clattering drew Bojack's attention and he watched Ashley rummage through a drawer beside the counter, producing a pair of thin scissors. "We can make this work."

"What're you gonna do?" Bojack asked incredulously, eyeing the scissors as they glinted in the light.

"Relax. I was just gonna give you a little trim. Believe me, kid, you need it."

"Oh..."

"I mean I don't have to just trim it..."

Before Bojack could inquire what she'd meant Ashley was rummaging loudly through the drawer again, producing a white, laminated folder with the words "Hairstyles & Designs" depicted in cut out block-letters.

Turning toward Bojack, Ashley laid the folder out across Bojack's lap, fanning it open.

"Most of these are pretty ridiculous," she mused as she idly flipped the pages until she settled on one that depicted a chocolate brown horse with an ostentatious curl rolling up off the top of his head like an angry, black cloud.

"Look at that one," she chuckled.

Bojack peered over his mug at the neatly done up horse staring back at him.

"He looks nice," Bojack said plainly.

"What about his hair, though," Ashley asked, holding back a snicker. "Do you like that hairstyle?"

Bojack shook his head and took a sip.

"Okay..." Ashley intoned, flipping the page to reveal a second horse, this one coal black with a line of braids running the length of his head. "I'm gonna assume you don't want that one either?"

"Uh-uh." Bojack said, taking yet another sip.

"Alright," Ashley groaned as she pushed herself upright after having been crouched next to the boy for so long. "Why don't I just let you look at this real quick? I'm gonna go make some more coa-coa."

Whilst Ashley was over at the counter re-filling the pot, Bojack took it upon himself to continue thumbing through the folder and when she returned, he was looking at her over his shoulder at her with stars in his eyes.

"Did you find one?" She chimed, grabbing the folder from him, her face blanching at the image.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" She asked, her nose turned up slightly.

Bojack responded with an enthusiastic "mmhmm" and an even more emphatic nod.

"You sure you don't just want a trim?"

"Nope."

"Well, alright then," Ashley smirked, clapping the folder closed and depositing it onto the counter before grabbing a small, blue canister off a shelf of a dozen others. "Looks like it's gonna be hair-gel all the way down."


	2. Chapter 2

"Aaaaand viola."

Ashley's voice voice snapped Bojack back to himself and when she stepped back, the boy's attention was immediately on his head.

"So," she beamed toothily as she positioned a small hand mirror behind the boy's head. "Whaddya think?"

Bojack spent a long moment poring over his newfound look, admiring the towering steeples of hair that now protruded from his skull like the plumage of an exotic bird.

"Well..." Ashley intoned. You like?"

Bojack's intense scrutiny eventually gave way to a smile.

Ashley smiled herself. "That looks like a 'yes' to me."

Depositing the mirror back in the drawer, Ashley lifted the smock off Bojack who stood from the chair, still studying the intricacies of his new hair even as Ashley came around to the counter again to refill her cup.

"Still looks pretty bad out there," she mused, her attention halfway on the streets outside the window as she poured herself a second cup of the sweet smelling mixture. "You don't still plan on walking, do you?"

Bojack came to stand beside her at the counter, looking out at the street as a vicious peal of wind rattled the windows.

"I'll be fine."

Ashley looked over at him, her face grim. "You sure I can't get you to reconsider?"

A second gale tore through down the street and Bojack had to fight not to let her see him wince.

"Yeah. It's fine..."

Bojack ventured a glance at the woman out of the corner of his eye, her frown unchanged.

He flashed her an awkward smile.

"Fine then," she said, holding out her hand. Bojack turned fully to her now, staring dumbly at her outstretched hand until he saw her gently gesture to the cup in his hand with her head. Wordlessly, he handed over his cup and she went about filling it in earnest. "At least take something for the road."

There was a moment of heavy silence as the cup was filled and handed back to the child, and — after a brief note of hesitation — he dutifully downed it's contents with a handful of noisy gulps.

"Hopefully that's at least enough to keep you warm until you get home. It's not far, is it?"

Bojack shook his head. "No, it's not that far."

"Good."

Ashley extended her hand again and Bojack handed her the now empty cup. With both cups and the now unplugged coffee-maker in her arms, she informed Bojack she would be right back and clumsily carried the contents back through the door at the other end of the room.

Bojack stared stupidly at his shoes for a long minute and when the woman reemerged, she was carrying a ring of keys in her hand.

"At least let me walk you out. I've gotta lock up anyways."

Bojack watched the woman as she flitted around the shop and tended to various things before making her way to the door with Bojack following behind her.

"I still wish you would let me drive you home," she said almost sadly as she rummaged through the ring of keys, gripping one of the biggest ones in between her thumb and pointer finger. "It's fucking frigid out there."

"I'll be fine," Bojack reassured again.

"I hope so," she said with a somber smile as she grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and hiked it up onto his shoulders again. "You've seriously gotta get a new coat. Your own coat."

"Yeah," Bojack said as he stepped ahead of her and pushed the door open halfway, fighting a shiver as freezing cold air sliced through him.

"Fuck," Ashley cursed, curling in on herself. "That's fucking _cold_!"

Even as Bojack watched the person behind him cower almost violently away from the gelid air, he found the particularly frigid temperature far more tolerable than he had when he'd arrived. Whether it was from the liquid placebo Ashley had made him drink or his extended stay indoors, he wasn't sure, but after watching Ashley writhe for a heavy ten seconds, he pushed the door open further and slipped through to the other side, completely ignorant of the ice-cold temperature assaulting him.

Once outside, he let the door fall shut, turning to see Ashley fumbling with the thick key in her fingers again as she tried, trembling to fit it to the lock.

"Be careful out there, kid," he heard her shout from the other side of the door as she slipped the key into the lock with shaky hands.

"I will," Bojack called back, his breath fogging the glass.

Bojack watched her until he heard the click of the lock, reciprocating as she smiled and waved at him one final time before scuttling to the back of the shop and out of view. With Ashley gone, Bojack turned toward the barrenness of the street, an alien sort of sensation pervading his core even as the wind continued to it's attack.

It was ineffable really; something foreign, yet familiar — as if it had been with him all along. A kind of righteous absolution that rendered the sapping cold biting at his exposed skin naught but a breeze as he began to deftly navigate the stretch of sidewalk before him.

As he cleared the first block and subsequent intersection, a harsh bleating made him jump and when he turned he saw a woman in a rusted, blue car pull up beside him, a spiked row of hair much like his own gracing her head.

"Rad hairstyle, little dude," the woman yelled from the half-way cracked window. Bojack raised a hand in assent and as quickly as she came she was off down the road again. Bojack watched the tail-lights until they disappeared, that same vindication roiling powerfully in his gut as he pushed onward.

A gust of wind hit him then, icy fingers dancing over every inch of his skin. Bojack paid the cold no heed, letting his father's oversized jacket hang loosely off his shoulders as he swaggered before the glut of shops that demarcated the downtown area, one of the doors nearly hitting him as it swung open.

Bojack danced around the open door and the bodies shuffling out of it, his eyes meeting those of a short, round-faced woman who lit up upon seeing him.

"Oh," she squealed. "Harold, look! Look at his hair!"

A tall bison in a red checkered shirt plodded out behind the smaller woman, his eyes easily as wide as her own.

"Holy crap, kid," the man said, circling the younger male as if he were a judge vetting a show dog. "That's some hairdo."

"Thanks," Bojack responded, a wide smile spreading his cheeks.

"How long's something like that take?"

"A couple hours I guess."

"Can you imagine having hair like that?" The woman asked, as she walked around Bojack and came to stand beside the man.

The man scoffed. "I _wish _I could pull of a hairstyle like that."

"Yeah," the woman snorted. "You'd look like a total dork."

"I would look like a dork," the man agreed with a smirk. "Looks good on you, though."

"Thanks," Bojack responded with lopsided smirk of his own.

"For sure," the man said, wrapping a beefy arm around the smaller woman and leading her in the other direction. "Seeya around, dude."

Bojack watched the couple for a few moments before turning to look at himself in the frosted window of the shop, his newfound conviction stoked white hot.

For a moment he simply stood there, both admiring and gawking at the horse who stared back at him, something alien bubbling up inside him as the image morphed into that of his father.

_Fucker_

Bojack gasped inwardly as the thought crossed his mind and just as quickly as it came it was gone; however the vindication flooding his veins did not fade.

His synapse fired again.

_Stupid asshole- No... stupid __**fucking**_ _asshole._

Rife with anger, the child stomped onward.

_Can't even remember to pick up his own freakin' son. Who does that?_

On the sidewalk opposite him, a haggard old woman dressed much like his mother would tottered daintily along. Bojack watched her out of the corner of his eye and for a moment the woman seemed to fully took on his mother's appearance, a scathing admonition poised dangerously on the tip of her tongue.

However, the woman merely continued carefully on her way, never once looking up from her weathered purple heels as they clicked along the sidewalk.

Bojack huffed and continued walking until he'd fully cleared the downtown area and the ensuing stretch of sidewalk until he was out of the town proper and only a few blocks away from his home.

With nothing but the wind whipping in his ears and the plodding of his shoes on the sidewalk, thoughts of his mother came to his mind again, a wry, twisted smile spreading his lips as he imagined the look on her face.

Bojack's pace quickened at the thought and — in a matter of minutes — he found himself within walking distance of his home, but as the front half of the house came into view, a shock of panic rattled his bones and his fevered pace slowed to a stop.

Cautiously, Bojack peered cross-eyed at the foremost column of hair that jutted out from his head like the horn of some great beast and for a moment he was frozen with fear; then — as if he had willed it — courage surged through him, carrying him down the sidewalk, across the yard and onto the porch.

With one hand on the doorknob, Bojack pulled a heavy breath through his nose and began to turn the handle.

A hellish screech made the boy's heart leap into his throat and when he turned he saw the familiar make of his father's car screaming into the driveway. All at once the boldness swimming through his veins leaked out of him as he watched the car door swing open and his father step out.

Their eyes met.

Butterscotch's jaw unhinged. "What on God's green earth is _that_?"

The words were hands around Bojack's neck.

The car door slammed.

Bojack fished desperately for words as his father stalked across the yard and up to the porch.

"Who did this to you, huh?" The man growled, impossibly tall, teeth bared and glinting.

Bojack tried to offer some form of placation, but could only manage a pitiful whimper.

"Come on, get inside before somebody sees."

Without warning, Butterscotch grabbed Bojack roughly by the wrist and dragged him through the threshold and into the house, all but slamming the door behind him.

"Beatrice!" the older horse boomed as he relinquished his hold on the boy.

Bojack — who had immediately begun nursing his afflicted wrist — listened in abject horror as the clipping of his mother's heels on the tile gradually built until he could see her shadow creeping along the wall in the low-light of the living room.

Bojack's breath caught in his throat as she rounded the corner.

"You know you don't have to shout, I'm-"

Their eyes met, Beatrice's own growing wide and incredulous.

"What in the world is going on here?" Beatrice said, staring hawkishly down at her son before turning her piercing gaze on the larger horse. "What have you done to our child?"

"Me?" Butterscotch squawked. "Why would you think I had anything to do with this?" Bojack flinched as Butterscotch gestured emphatically in his direction.

"Don't play coy with me," Beatrice sniped. "This is exactly the kind of thing you would do...probably to spite me."

"Oh?" Butterscotch scoffed, his arms crossed as he glared viciously at her. "And how do I know you didn't put him up to this?"

"Please," Beatrice chuffed, an acrid cloud of cigarette smoke escaping her muzzle as she rounded on her son, fingering the longest spire of hair jutting out from his head. "If I was going to defile our child, I would have at least picked something less gaudy looking. I mean honestly, he looks like a hoodlum."

"Well, I guess that's what you get when there's basically no mother in the picture..."

Beatrice rolled her eyes at him and took a healthy drag from her cigarette. "Hate to break it to you, but you're not exactly 'father of the year.'"

"You wanna see 'father of the year?'" Butterscotch growled ,his eyes narrowed dangerously as he turned on his son. "Go to your room."

Not daring to look up from his shoes, Bojack scuttled around his parents and made his way down the hall to his bedroom, the timbre of his parents' voices echoing throughout the house as they continued to maliciously berate one another.

A distressing cocktail of panic, fear and looming dread sloshed around in Bojack's gut as he prostrated himself out on his bed; however, even underneath all of the muck, the exoneration that had spurred him on initially still persisted.

A lopsided smile graced the boy's lips just as his parents' bickering died down, his mirth short-lived as the plodding of footsteps caught his ear.

Bojack shot ramrod straight in his bed as the footsteps grew in volume. Panic gripped his heart as the footsteps stopped just outside his door, the handle creaking as it turned and the door was pushed open.

"Bojack?"

Bojack turned his eyes toward the door just as his father poked his head in.

For the second time that day, their eyes met; however, this time his father's eyes were far softer and more disarming. Even as he sidled into the room and onto the bed, his demeanor was far less guarded than Bojack was used to seeing.

"I know you're probably...at that age..." Butterscotch started awkwardly, wringing his hands. "Be honest with me, did you do this?"

Butterscotch turned himself so that he was halfway facing him and — with eyes wide and breath too heavy to hold — Bojack exhaled with a shaky, almost unsure nod.

To the child's complete and utter amazement, Butterscotch's surprisingly even countenance became a wide, wolfish smirk.

"Did you see the look on your mother's face? I thought she was gonna flip."

Bojack chanced a small, uncertain smile of his own.

"Anyway," the larger horse began, hauling himself up and making his way toward the door. "I shouldn't have to tell you not to do this again, should I?"

Bojack nodded without hesitation.

"Good," Butterscotch said, one hand on the doorknob. "Oh, and you're grounded, obviously."

Bojack frowned.

"And fix your hair before your mother has an aneurysm."

Bojack could've sworn he heard his father mumble something about hope before he exited the room, shutting the door behind him and leaving Bojack alone once more. Cautiously, the boy listened as the sound of footsteps dampened, and when he was sure he was alone, he once again glanced up at the protrusions lining his skull and smiled.

"Worth it."


End file.
